I remember it so clearly,
up on that bridge,
the fragile December night,
running for a train
I was never going to catch,
and then
a tearing-
a coming asunder-
the fragments of something
I dearly wanted shattered on the floor,
dark liquid pooling.
I remember it so clearly,
up on that bridge,
the fragile December night,
running for a train
I was never going to catch,
and then
a tearing-
a coming asunder-
the fragments of something
I dearly wanted shattered on the floor,
dark liquid pooling.
Lauren Phillips-Freeman is a language teacher and writer with a love of words in all their forms. She uses writing to help her process her own tangled emotions.